


Metaphors and Dinosaurs

by Sammy_who_are_these_people



Category: Glee
Genre: Best Friends, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:50:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413900
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sammy_who_are_these_people/pseuds/Sammy_who_are_these_people
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'He'd always wondered what he would say or do if he ever met his old friend again.'</p><p>Littlefoot and Cera used to be the 'bestest' of friends. But with one's dad leaving and the other's mom dying, they were torn apart. It's not until New Year's Day 2012 that Puck and Kurt realize they're together again, but obstacles like a boyfriend and abandonment issues prevent them from fully reconnecting. That doesn't stop them from trying, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Titled after Mark Salling's "Metaphors and Dinosaurs," there are SPOILERS for Season 3. I can't help but Puckurt everything, even movies from my childhood.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd always wondered what he would say or do if he ever met his old friend again.

The Golden Cup was a small, tucked away coffee shop in a small, out of the way plaza.

Puck literally stumbled across its threshold for the first time years ago, about two weeks after his old man hitched out and he'd tried to go after him.

Going on the fact that it had been raining like a bitch and that Puck was eight, having never been allowed to venture past the street corner alone, and that he'd bolted from the house without his glasses and only his mom's bathrobe and his favorite-but-totally-not-waterproof hat to shield him from the sky's wrath, it's safe to say that he hadn't gotten far and appeared in the coffee shop looking like a drenched stray puppy. The shop's owner, Jude, had been wiping down the tables for closing time, but as soon as she saw Puck she dropped the cloth, ushered a sniffling Puck to the back room, and swaddled him up with a random quilt and cup of cocoa without a word.

Safe to say, Puck had been regularly sneaking out to the shop ever since, rain or shine.

Or, in today's case, insane snow from freaking Canada.

It was the first day of the year that homeless people believed aliens from the secret planet Nibiru were coming to help the apes flip Earth's magnetic poles, or some shit like that – even though Sam technically wasn't homeless anymore, and Puck was pretty sure he'd just mentally overlapped some of the conversations from the last day before winter break. Whatever.

Anyway, it was New Year's Day, 2012, and Puck was sitting with his usual mug of cocoa and plate of waffles – which Jude had added to the menu as soon as she realized Puck would become her most devout customer – at his usual table by the cream and sugar and stuff.

Huh.

Glancing at the sweeteners, he remembered how he'd used to sneak out pocketfuls of the Equal, until his mom found the copious amount of empty packets in the trash and admonished him saying it was the crap morticians used to embalm dead people, which wasn't something a ten old ever wanted to hear. After that, he took it upon himself to monitor how many packets of sugar people took and told them about the sugar-stuffed dead guys if someone took too many. It used to be cute of him or something, until he showed up one day without his glasses, sporting a mohawk and the name "Puck", and some people looked at him like some creepy stalker juvenile delinquent who hung around the cozy coffee shop.

Jude, like the first day she met him, hadn't said anything, just passed him his cocoa. If she topped it with more whipped cream than usual for whatever reason then – well it's not like he would ever complain.

Anyway – god, this weather was messing with his head – today was the first of January, and some idiot weather man or Santa Clause or the Hanukkah Armadillo decided Lima, Ohio just hadn't received enough snow yet, so they decided to take a huge, frosty dump on the loser town. Puck didn't mind; he actually loved the snow, but…he'd feel very dumb if he was to go out there and play in it alone.

His mom was on shift at the hospital – because sick people don't give a damn about the new year if they're gonna die without seeing it through – and Sarah was at a friends house – because even though Jews don't celebrate the New Year on the same day as most people, Sarah was eleven and liked any excuse to party. Jonah, his older brother, predictably failed to shown up for the holidays this year, for the fourth year in row. And his savta was, well, a grandma.

The whole situation was squat, so it was safe to say that Puck would feel very dumb and honestly, very lonely if he was to go out in the snow alone. He hadn't been in contact with anyone from the Glee club because unlike his, their families weren't that muffed up, and he knew they were all probably doing some bonding stuff, and he still respected families.

He knew Jude's daughter Jade, or even Jude herself, would offer to go out there with him, just because they were practically his other family by now. But it was surprisingly busy today at the Golden Cup, probably because too many people were trying to leave Lima with not enough plows to clear the highways quick enough, and also the fact that Golden Cup was the only shop open in that area. Which meant that Jude, Jade, and Jade's friend Kylie barely had enough time to make sure Puck's mug remained hot and full, let alone joke around with him while working like they usually did.

Oh, Puck wasn't inconsiderate. He wouldn't mind helping out. In the ten years he'd been going there, he'd become an unpaid kind of employee, a volunteer – the kind that wiped down the tables and mopped the floors and restocked the sugar things and updated the white board behind the counter if Jade ever let him, and he even helped decorate for the holidays if Kylie ever let him.

Again, Golden Cup was small, so usually only one of the women was on shift, especially since Jade and Kylie lived on campus at the university and their schedule was erratic. Which meant that Jude was usually the only one there, which didn't sit right with Puck at all because, really, all three of the women were attractive – and although Puck more than occasionally flirted with either of them, they all knew nothing was serious because again, they were like family – and he admitted to being a bit of a worrier.

Like, what if some bastard stumbled in at closing time, like Puck had done years ago, only he was drunk and thought he could get some kind of sugar other than the blue packets of Equal from the girls 'cause they were alone? Hell no. Not if Puck had any say, which he damn well did.

And so, in addition to the cleaning and his honorary 'Puck's Waffles' on the menu board, as well as always picking up the tab despite the girls' protests, Puck served as the Golden Cup's unofficial guard dog. And because he refused any money from Jude as she was still helping pay Jade's tuition and he wasn't that much of a jackass and he was pretty sure it'd be illegal or something anyway, they always subtly-but-not-unnoticed-by-Puck gave him a little more than what he paid for. But, come on. It's not like he was looking for it and besides.

Waffles.

He wasn't going to complain, like, ever.

All that to say: on busy days like today, Puck was more than willing and available to help out around the shop. Except, Kylie joked about him taking her job and that Jude wouldn't pay her and even though he knew she was teasing and that Jude would still pay her – and would even pay Puck too if he'd let her – he didn't want to be a home-wrecker…or job-wrecker or whatever.

And yeah he knew that, the home-wrecker thing? A sailed ship and all that stuff, but just shut up 'cause he wasn't even getting into that right now.

What he was getting at was that for today he was assigned unofficial-guard-dog duty. As usual, it wasn't, like, official or anything. But he was there because even though all three of the women were on shift which was rare, it was New Year's Day, and he wasn't even being sexist against lady-strength or paranoid or anything because New Year drunks were a whole other threat-concept altogether. The girls knew that too, and they'd said nothing about his defensive scowl when he'd walked in that morning and immediately assumed his 'Duh, I'm a badass' unofficial-guard-post by the sugar table.

They'd had a lot to say about his general appearance though.

Because apparently, according to Jade, he'd have to 'work reallyhard' if he expected to be 'paid for his services' today wearing something like that.

But according to Kylie, Jade didn't know what she was talking about, but she should've known that all badass studs nowadays wore super geeky glasses because the bigger the lenses, right?

And oh, in that case, Jade thought, the longer the flippers too, yeah?

And then they'd laughed, and Puck had so not blushed – he'd still been chilled from the freezing wind outside – and he put on a show of flipping one of the long flippers over his shoulder because yeah, his were the biggest and the longest in Lima so they could suck it.

And then as the girls had laughed some more, Jude came out from the back room with the waffle maker, took one look at Puck and grinned. Puck took solace in the way her perfectly aged face lit up with the expression, and he felt considerably less embarrassed that he'd had to break his self-established rule that studs don't need to wear hats in a bit of cold weather. Because it wasn't just cold, it was fucking freezing, and he wasn't that stupid so he'd dug around in the back of his closet for the favorite hat he'd abandoned years ago – which also hadn't fit with his new 'badass' image.

Plus, he still loved the hat.

And he would never admit it to anyone but he'd always been secretly hoping to have an excuse to be able to wear it again before graduation.

It was a Tomtop hat, the black and white baby penguin one with its cute little bluish eyes too close to its orange beak, and its flippers that acted like earmuffs but dangled all the way down for him to slide his hands into like mittens too. And it was crazy-fuzzy-soft and warm and he'd always thought it was adorable, but if you tell anyone he'd probably have to hurt you, or get the Nibiru ape dudes to shove the magnetic poles up your ass; Happy New Year.

He'd gotten it as a gift like, a billion years ago, but he hadn't seen the lady who gave it to him since about the same time his bastard father decided a wife and two-almost-three children wasn't enough. She'd been the mom of his best friend from his childhood, way before Finn, for the forever up until his old man left, and that's when Puck's memories started to blur. He doesn't remember seeing his 'bestest friend since before time' since then either, and he eventually, heartbrokenly guessed that their family had moved. Looking back, he'd always worn that baby-penguin hat, up until the night he tried going after his dad, which was actually around the same night he'd last seen his best friend, come to think of it.

Huh.

Anyway, now he was wearing the hat, and the flippers no longer dangled by his shins which meant that it actually fit like it should after all these years.

He was also wearing his glasses, which he'd deemed un-badass along with the baby-penguin hat, but still occasionally had to use when reading – which he never did at school or anywhere in public really, so it wasn't like anyone besides his family would know. He didn't even like to wear them in the shop anymore, and Jude was the only one working on the few occasions he did on days like today. When the weather was shitty and he couldn't see crap even with the glasses on.

And honestly, Puck liked to see. Duh.

So, it was today, January 1, 2012 (he was probably reminding himself of the date because damn, it was 2012), that Puck wore both his large, thick black rimmed glasses and baby-penguin Tomtop hat in public for the first time in…yeah, a while, with a mob of people coming and going and totally able to tell whoever else. But for some reason, Puck just didn't care. He could just say he was being festive or something, if the bastards had a problem with an eighteen year old being comfortable for once in a long time.

His usually exposed head was actually warm, despite the number of times the door had been opened all day, blasting in gusts of spine-numbing, snow-flaked air each and every time with the scent of purest winter on the wind. He was able to see clearly, could make out the individual flakes outside the window that were finally starting to slow in their nearly frantic decent, freaking ice-age.

Slowly but surely, the stream of customers started to calm too, and Puck actually had the time to take away from thoughts of drunken goat faces and focus on his itch to be outside.

He loved when the flakes were fat and fluffy like they were now and he could just stand out there, tilt his head back, exposing his face to the sobering gray sky and letting the white crystals stick to his eyelashes, his cheeks, feeling them melt. Snow always falls quietly, something he'd noticed years ago while he was sitting on the stoop, waiting for the best friend that never came to play in the snow with him. He loved to look up and spin in circles until the white sky blurred and the falling flakes twisted in their shower, warping his little-bubble and making it as if he was in a snow globe.

He loved to fall on the ground, cushioned by a flurry of fluffy whiteness kicked up in his wake, and just lay there, listening to the snow's silence. He wanted to do that now, go out there and lay in the quiet white, away from the low hum of coffee-drinkers and music and the smell of coffee and peppermint and the faint scent of beer. But. He couldn't. Unofficial-guard duty, remember?

Yeah it kind of sucked, like, big time. But whatever, because here came Jade with another plate of waffles and fresh cup of cocoa. It was pretty much what he'd been living on all winter break, considering his frequent at the Golden Cup.

"Thanks Jade, babe." He said with a small but genuine smile. He didn't know how long he'd been staring out the window but it had been long enough for the forgotten half of his cocoa to go cold. He wasn't one to waste, not with how generous the girls were, and he usually drank or ate all of whatever they gave him, which meant that he'd be taking the cold cocoa home in a to-go cup. Because if you think Jude's homemade cocoa tasted the same as chocolate milk when cold? You're wrong, it was way awesomer.

Whoa. Hey. Freaking awesome New Year's epiphany.

"You're welcome, Flipper." Jade said with an answering smile, tugging on one of his hat's flippers. Puck always sort of appreciated the fact that she never wore much makeup; she was a pretty woman without it, especially when she smiled. She got her Korean-American facial features from Jude, her dark eyes always smiling, and she kept her long, dark and wavy hair back in a high ponytail whenever she was on shift. "Anything else I can get for you, stud?"

Puck started to shake his head, but then stopped. His epiphany. "Actually Jay, could you take this back and pour it over some ice? I want to try something."

Jade's smile twisted slightly to form an incredulous expression as she stared at him for a moment, like she was trying to figure something out – like she wasn't one of the only people who might have known him better than himself. But then, her dark eyes flickered to take in his overall appearance and she tugged once more, smiling again.

"You're so weird Flipper," and yeah, she'd been calling him that all day, "but sure. One cocoa on the rocks, coming right up!"

She took his dirty plate and the hot chocolate with her to the back room, probably to get the ice from the freezer because it wasn't like anybody else had been insane enough to order a cold drink on a day like today.

Puck just started tucking into his fresh stack of waffles – with the perfect amount of pure maple syrup and a side dollop of whipped cream – when Kylie called out from where she was making a person's decaf behind the counter.

"Hey, Clark Kent," because she insisted on a nickname too, and he told her he preferred to be Superman than that physics-nerd-guy Leonard from Big Bang Theory. "Be a hero and restock the crack packets, would you?"

Puck just sort of shook his head in disbelief because seriously, he didn't think you were supposed to refer to the sugar as crack around customers, because somebody could call the cops or the health department or, hell, just come in with a druggie mob or something to raid the joint. On the other hand, it could attract more business if it got out that the Golden Cup's sugar was actually sleet – kind of how his pot-cakes that one time sold like cupcakes with pot in them because, hey, that's what they were, so whatever.

He liked that Kylie was like that though, not giving a shit what anybody else thought. She was her own kind of badass. While Jade exuded a sophisticated yet seductive air about her, Kylie was a bit radical. Her hair, for instance, was currently the color of fire. She'd started with the yellow months ago, slowly progressed into the orange, before topping it off with fire engine red that looked like something else in a certain light.

None of them, not even Kylie herself, could remember what her natural hair color was. When eleven-year old Puck first met her, her hair had been black and white and he'd called her Cruella up until she dyed it all bright pink. She'd alternated solid colors throughout high school until she graduated with a rainbow, and then started from scratch with white and progressed through shades of each color at a time, complimenting her look with an all black wardrobe that wasn't depressing at all because she was Kylie. Today, Kylie's black ensemble, flaming hair, and smoky eyeshadow made it look as if she was a smoldering coal or something behind the counter making coffee.

As he carried the new box of sugar to the table, he acknowledged that Kylie's hair was fierce, badass, and most of all a symbol of warmth despite Mother Nature's hissy fit.

Not as fierce, badass, and warm as his penguin hat though.

His back had only been turned for a minute when Puck heard the little door bells chime and felt a short gust of wind sweep against the back of his knees. It was the first new customer they'd had in about an hour – more people had started leaving the shop than entering when the snow started to let up – and he didn't think any more hung-over cases would still be coming in at this hour, so he kind of shrugged it off and continued arranging the sweeteners alphabetically. Only, then he realized he always looked for blue when he reached for the Equal, so he started rearranging them by color.

As he did this, he could pick up on the telltale sound of rubber soles being wiped dry on the doormat. But because so many people had been tracking in snow and soaking the rug, the boots still squelched and squeaked a bit when they hit the bare floor. Puck listened to the approaching footsteps as whoever it was made their way across the shop to the counter. At first, the steps were sure and somewhat hurried as the person probably really wanted something hot to drink, if the huff of relief he'd heard as the shop's warmth welcomed the person was any indication. But then, strangely, there was a faltering in the rhythm as whoever it was passed behind him. And then, the steps stopped altogether.

And Puck's automatic thought was 'he'd better not be stealing my waffles!', because this one time, Kylie and Jade somehow got the stupid idea that it would be fun to steal his waffles while he was lifting a heavy box of new shipment for Jude. Safe to say that a twelve-year old Puck without waffles was not a happy Puck. 'Puck's Waffles' were Puck's waffles, after all.

But for now, Puck brushed off that territorial thought just as he brushed some spilled sugar left by some careless inconsiderate from the table into his palm – a perfectly good waste of embalming cocaine in his opinion – and didn't think too much of it. Whoever it was probably just stopped to look at the assortment of exotic teas and authentic coffee beans on the shelves of the opposite wall, or something. Puck often helped arrange them there, since he'd grown taller than any of the older women, and he thought he'd done a decent job. Even Jude complimented the 'bold and daring' effect of spilling some coffee beans out of the little sack in a deliberately careless manner. 'Aesthetically pleasing to the eye', whatever that meant. Some kind of Feng shui?

Anyway, Puck figured it was no big deal that he didn't know who was standing behind him for whatever reason. Still, as he brushed the sugar from his hand into the shiny garbage can next to the table – like the person who spilled it couldn't take five seconds to do that – he couldn't help but feel that he should turn around. Like he was being watched or something. And yeah, he bragged that he was the sexiest piece of eye-candy in Lima, but…you probably couldn't tell while he was wearing the penguin-hat and glasses. Which meant that maybe the person was staring at his head, which was kind of annoying because he could wear a fucking Tomtop if he wanted to, damn it.

Puck briefly debated whether or not to tell the person off – because he'd already gotten enough weird looks today – and he decided to just settle for his usual 'piss off' scowl, despite any lack of real menace because, come on, how menacing can you be in a fluffy baby-penguin hat?

With said expression prepared, Puck turned around, expecting for the person to either have the balls to laugh to his face or to cower away, hoping for the latter because all he really wanted to do was finish his waffles, and what was taking Jade so damn long to pour hot chocolate over some friggin ice?

What he wasn't expecting was to hear a gasp and suddenly have an armful of clinging, breathlessly excited person, calling him a name that he hadn't been called in years, and thought he'd never be called again.

"Littlefoot. My Littlefoot."

Yeah. Littlefoot.

As in, Littlefoot, the "Longneck" from that old cartoon series, the Land Before Time. And if you don't know what that is then you should be ashamed because it's this awesome thing with dinosaurs and adventure and singing and friendship – and you can shut up about it or he could go Sharptooth all over your face, screw Sam's apes with their magnetic poles.

Because yeah, he realized that to all the losers on the outside who didn't know shit, the fact that he'd seen each of the eight movies plus the two sing-along videos at least ten times each was completely un-badass. But that there was his childhood.

That best friend he'd mentioned before? They'd used to be obsessed with dinosaurs, and the first three Land Before Time movies had been the best thing since…hell, since before time, just like their friendship. Younger than eight years old, they used to study the scientific names for every dinosaur they could find a picture of; they used to have more dinosaur figurines than Barbie dolls (which, shut the fuck up), and they'd used to put their Power Rangers through a ton of different Jurassic Park-esque adventures, because yeah they'd obviously watched Jurassic Park back then too. Dinosaurs had been their thing.

But, the Land Before Time? That had been like their freaking Spongebob, except a lot less idiotic, if somewhat cheesy (like, as Puck re-watched them years later he'd noticed how creepy some of the facial expressions were). And they'd watched it so often and gotten so into it… God, Puck missed that. Not even his Mario-thing with Finn had ever run so deep, it was insane.

In the series, Littlefoot was an Apatosaurus who'd been separated from his father, and his mother had been killed, so he'd been raised by his grandparents. He was level-headed and big-hearted; he cared for those close to him and took on a natural leadership role, but still expressed something of innocence and was sometimes hesitant. The first friend Littlefoot ever made was a "Three Horn", or Triceratops, named Cera.

Cera had been raised by her single father, who'd taught her to never show weakness, so Cera always exuded an air of confidence and slight arrogance, bigoted toward other species, as she hid her vulnerability. But when the two became friends, they balanced each other out: Littlefoot eased Cera's temper and saw through her rough exterior, and Cera supported Littlefoot and protected his heart from the cruel world they lived in.

Shut up, he knew how lame that sounded but…just shut up.

The point was, Littlefoot and Cera stuck together to the end, no matter what happened, no matter their differences. And that was how Puck had been with his bestest-best friend, since before time – he, practically the opposite of his present-self back then, and his friend, what he kind of is now – always together. So they'd taken to calling each other after their favorite characters, and Puck had been Littlefoot.

But…their parents had been the only other people who'd known. Then Puck's old man left, and his ma just wasn't sentimental about that time of their lives because of said bastard. And then "Cera" and his mom (Puck never saw much of his dad because of work) were gone, taking the last hopes of the endearment with them. Needless to say, Puck never thought he'd hear the name again.

But apparently 2012 truly was the transferring of reality into the Twilight Zone, because here he was.

Being called "Littlefoot, my Littlefoot", in a voice that he felt would've been familiar if the person's face hadn't been buried in his chest.

"Oh, I've missed you. I've missed you so much! Where have you been? I can't…god; I can't believe it's you…"

Puck was still standing there, blinking out of his reverie and down at the top of the person's head. They were wearing a winter hat, which seemed to radiate with cold air that smelled familiarly of the snow outside, and it reminded Puck of his longing to be out there for the briefest second before he refocused. It also smelled like a shampoo that he felt like he'd smelled many times before, but it had been a while and he couldn't place it. Was it really the scent of…his best friend?

Nah, it couldn't have been. His best friend was gone, long gone. Up and left without any warning, just like his father. Left him sitting there on the stoop in the snow all those years ago with nobody to play with because Puck devoted so much attention to his bestest-best friend that he hadn't had many other friends yet. Left him with the hanging promise of a Land Before Time marathon because Puck had still been confused about his father leaving. Left him to attempt and fail at nursing his own heart that had been too big for his small body.

Left him wondering what he'd done wrong.

He'd always wondered what he would say or do if he ever met his old friend again. He'd told himself that he would punch the guy for being an inconsiderate douche and for just leaving and forgetting him so easily like that because he thought what they'd had was special. He'd told himself that too much would've happened in the past ten years and that they could never be the same if they ever met again. He'd told himself that it didn't even matter anyway because if his old friend had really gotten out of Lima, and Puck obviously hadn't meant much to him, then there was no reason the guy would ever come back and therefore an unlikely chance that they would ever meet again.

And yet, here he was.

And there was a moment in which Puck doubted that the guy was really his best friend because one, how could the guy even recognize him in his hat and glasses and two, his friend had never been this tall. But then his rational mind reminded him that one, he'd always, always worn his hat and glasses around his best friend because his friend once told him he liked the glasses, and you already know about the hat. Two, no shit his friend hadn't been as tall because duh, that was a decade ago. Plus, as he'd already established, nobody else knew about the nickname.

Littlefoot.

So if he overlooked the fact that it was almost impossible that they would meet up now, in the Golden Cup of all places, after all those years, Puck realized that it was entirely plausible since it was now 2012. The year his world would be turned upside-down.

And there was really only one thing he could think to say in his position.

"Wait. Cera…Cera-tops?"

The person's arms tightened around his waist, and Puck could feel the guy's body shiver, and it sent a chill through his own chest. Then the person seemed to inhale deeply, as if preparing for something, and Puck felt something block half of his throat as he realized that he couldn't remember what his best friend's face looked like – since his ma had also possibly destroyed all of their photo albums. His brow furrowed in an unconscious defensive expression as he braced himself. And then the person tilted their head back to look him in the eyes.

And it was possible that the world had already ended because this actually couldn't have been happening at all.

Because, what the actual loving fuck?

Cera.

Cera, his Cera-tops, Cera. Wasn't.

"…Kurt?"


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To everyone else, it would be considered impossible, how quickly the two fell back into their elaborate dance, never missing a step, as if the music hadn’t been paused for years.

“Kurt?”

Puck had barely voiced the name before the boy’s lips were on his.

They were smooth and soft, warm, almost gentle as they formed around Puck’s. They _fit_ , and the feeling was familiar, but not in the way the Puck ever experienced with a girl. It was like…a hug. Like being wrapped up in Jude’s quilt, only…better. Reassuring heat seemed to envelope Puck, spreading across his cheeks, down his neck and through his chest to his stomach. A tingling, light and fluttery feeling settled below the base of his throat, and for the first time, Puck guessed that the guys who talked about butterflies weren’t total wusses after all. The kiss itself was innocent, without any tongue even as the boy’s lips parted slightly to slot perfectly with his, but it still made Puck feel like he was high on Equal crack packets.

And wait just one damn second. It was a kiss?

And then, Puck realized. The guy was kissing him. His Cera-tops, who he hadn’t seen in about ten years, was kissing him. Kurt _,_ Kurt Hummel – the boy whom he used to toss into the school dumpster and check into lockers, but who he was now Glee-mates and dare he say even friends with – that Kurt, was kissing him. (Which…what?) And oh sweet Moses, Cera and Kurt were the same person. And he was kissing Puck.

And wait…his Cera-tops had been there all along?

Puck did _not_ gasp; he just inhaled sharply, possibly because the realization started to dawn on him. More likely though, he was reacting to Cera – _Kurt’s_ hands, which had risen up to ghost fingertips across the back of his neck, in the way that very few people knew made Puck whimper like a goddamn puppy. And damn it, he couldn’t even clamp down on the sound because he was in shock, and how uncool was that? But whatever; it made Kurt audibly sigh into his mouth, tightening his grip on the back of Puck’s neck and making Puck just want to melt like chocolate on a fresh waffle. And Puck hadn’t paid attention to how much Kurt had grown since sophomore year, until now, as Kurt pressed their fronts together and emphasized the mere inch of height difference.

Kurt was still kissing him.

Then, their bodies shifted just enough for the sugar table to nudge the back of Puck’s thighs, and Kurt pulled his face away, standing up straight. For a moment, Puck could only curse himself for just standing there and completely forgetting his rep as a badass sex-shark – it was like Lauren Zizes all over again, except Kurt hadn’t just totally mauled his face. But he couldn’t really blame his self when Kurt was staring at him like that. Kurt was smiling, but not blushing, which was kind of weird until Puck remembered that Hummel probably wasn’t a blushing virgin anymore (which…huh). And he was talking again. Oh.

“You remember.” Kurt was saying, repeating like a chant. His eyes were bright with excitement and winter’s freshness, but there was no recognition that ‘ _his_ Littlefoot’ was actually Noah Puckerman. Pure joy, like…like when he sang that song about never saying goodbye back in Junior year, when he’d come home from preppy blazer town. His eyes were too bright, and Puck could tell they were frosted with tears. “You remember.”

And it was almost stupid. Of _course_ Puck remembered Cera. He would’ve always remembered his Cera-tops. He was just freaking the ever loving fuck out right now, while his mind tried to compute the transformation from bossy little Cera to head bitch in charge Kurt. (Which, once he was able to think clearly about it, wasn’t that big of a difference.) There was also the fact that said long-lost friend wasn’t as lost as he’d thought. Oh, and the fact that said not-so-long-lost friend had just kissed him? That threw him so far from the loop that he was smoking catnip with Lord Tubbington.

“I remember.” Puck managed to confirm. Just barely though, so lowly that he wasn’t sure Kurt even heard him.

But he must have, because the dude looked right into Puck’s _soul_ and smiled so gently, so honestly, so fucking _sweetly,_ that Puck could only hug him back to his chest with such suddenness that Kurt gasped against him. He knew Kurt must’ve felt the rapid beating of his heart. He had to; what with the way it was fighting to break free and explode like a grenade, ending the world in a wave of passion-red adoration and indescribable warmth for the lost treasure in Puck’s arms. Forget every other Apocalypse theory. He just hoped Kurt wouldn’t kill him for messing up his white boots.

“Cera. You’re… _Cera_?” Puck blinked rapidly, staring down the back of Kurt’s durable coat – which was oddly turned down in flare, but definitely looked (and felt) warm enough for the weather. Weather which, if Puck hadn’t been too preoccupied to notice, had calmed down considerably since earlier, as if the Hanukkah Armadillo decided all was finally right with Lima, Ohio.

But Puck didn’t notice. Instead he grabbed his disbelief, and hint of hysterical excitement, with both hands. Doing so apparently closed his own throat, because his voice felt a bit thick when he spoke.

“Cera… _Cera_.” It sounded weird on his tongue. Tingly, kind of. But he _knew_ it was his Cera now, undoubtedly, unwaveringly, because that’s how they used to greet each other. With the most innocent peck on the lips that never came close enough to mirror how close they’d been.

They’d gotten it from the movies. Kisses brought two people together, they’d realized even though they’d been so young. And in the movies, kisses always brought people back to each other. Always. Like magic. And their friendship had been nothing if not absolutely magical, especially since they were here now, despite all odds. They were together again – had they really even left? And Kurt had kissed him, and Puck found his Cera, and it was 2012, and the snow fell gently outside the window, and there were waffles and, damn. It was almost too much.

“And Cera, you’re…you’re my _Kurt?_ Oh my god…” Puck’s arms tightened unconsciously and he barely breathed with his face against Kurt’s hat. “Oh my god.”

He could feel Kurt laugh into his chest and the caress of Kurt’s hands on his back. One smoothed across his shoulders blades before resting in the center of his spine, pressing them closer together, while the other moved to pet the penguin flipper covering Puck’s right ear. It reminded Puck that he was wearing the baby penguin Tomtop. The one Cera’s mother gave to him – the one _Kurt’s_ mother gave to him, for his kindergarten graduation. Cera’s mom: Puck called her his _dodah_ , his aunt. And, wow, there were so many memories there. Puck’s _dodah_ – and she was Cera’s mother. And Cera was Kurt, which meant that _dodah_ was Kurt’s mom, which…just, whoa.

The awesome lady who used to read them stories and cook kosher just for him; the pretty woman who inspired him to be a badass because she was sweet, but strong and didn’t take shit from anybody. Puck remembered his _dodah’s_ weird little Chihuahua sneezes, and how she always smelled like a mix of her perfume and the fresh rain. _Dodah’s_ hugs, whenever his own mom was too busy with baby Sarah.

“Because big boys need love too,” she used to say when he came over on play-dates. “You ever need a hug, sweetie, you come find me. I’ll give you some sugar.” And one time, when Puck said he didn’t want to steal her from Cera, because Cera needed his mom too, she’d only squeezed him tighter. Cera – baby-faced little Kurt – had hugged him from behind and said, without argument, that “We can share, right Mommy? And when we get older, you can come to us and we’ll give _you_ some sugar!” And Puck had nodded eagerly in agreement, brown curls bouncing. “Yeah, _dodah_ , ‘cause old people need love too. Just ask my _savta_ , she’s always trying to steal my sugar!”

And they’d laughed about old ladies being ninja sugar-bandits, and _dodah_ called them both adorable as they tackled each other like they imagined old women would. Then the phone rang, and _dodah_ spent about ten minutes scolding the person on the phone about being late for Friday dinner, before she hung up and turned back to them with a sweet smile, asking if they wanted cookies. They’d both nodded, and she’d put in _The Land Before Time: Sing-Along Songs_ while they waited for Cera’s dad to come home. They all sang along, the two boys dancing in the living room, _dodah’s_ angelic voice floating from the kitchen. Puck realized now, that Kurt really did sound like his mom.

Elizabeth. That was her name; Elizabeth. Puck’s “ _dodah_ ‘Beth”.

…And holy _shit,_ it was all starting to make sense.

Puck didn’t know how long he’d been standing there, running his hands up and down Kurt’s back as if making sure the boy was really real. As if his Cera would disappear and leave him stranded in the coffee shop, and would never magically reappear out of the snow again. But that’s how Puck found himself, when someone was suddenly calling his name: holding onto his Glee mate and childhood friend like one of them needed the other to keep them anchored.

“Puck, dear? Jade’s helping Kylie clean up a mess in the back but she said you wanted this…Puck? …Oh!”

It was Jude.

She was carrying the saucer with what Puck assumed to be his iced cocoa, and Puck caught her gaze over Kurt’s head just as she slid the mug onto his table, next to his forgotten waffles. She looked only slightly surprised, but more than slightly amused, and mostly curious as she mouthed, “Who’s that?” while gesturing to Kurt. He hadn’t noticed that Kurt had still been stroking his back and flipper until the boy’s hands slowed to a halt. Kurt pulled away, looking equally confused, as he looked around the coffee shop. Maybe he’d gotten caught up in memories from long ago and had forgotten where they were, too?

But no. Kurt’s head swiveled deliberately as he quickly scanned the Golden Cup for something. Or someone. Since the weather let up, most of the customers had taken their refreshments to-go, leaving only a few tables by the counter and a couple of seats by the fireplace in the corner. With that being said, it didn’t take long for Kurt to assess every other person’s face. They didn’t appear to be paying attention, instead busy talking to each other or sipping their coffees and giggling; or motioning for Kylie, who’d just come out to check on them – basically, nobody appeared to care about, let alone notice, Kurt’s very sudden and public display of affection. And even if they had, they knew better not to say anything; Puck recognized them as frequents, which meant they’d been around enough to know that Kylie was a lesbian. And No Hate was allowed at the Golden Cup, a rule enforced by the women plus Puck. Anybody who’d been there more than once knew that.

But Kurt didn’t know that, and he froze when he finally landed Jude, who was the only one staring. She stood right behind him, and Kurt had to crane his neck awkwardly to gaze back because Puck hadn’t loosened his embrace at all, preventing him from turning his body. Oops. Puck slackened his grip, and Kurt turned partially away to face Jude and her dark eyes. He kept on hand around Puck’s flipper though.

“I’m sorry, can we help you?” Kurt greeted Jude politely, but the arch in his eyebrow and stiffness of his smile told Puck that inside, Kurt was crouching and preparing to pounce with scathing words if necessary. Puck arched a brow in slight confusion, a motion which was mirrored by Jude but instead out of amusement. There was a lot of eyebrow arching going on, and Puck couldn’t remember who’d learned the quirk from whom.

“I was telling Puck here that his order was ready.” Jude mused, folding her arms over her bosom and leaning slightly against Puck’s chair. Puck watched Jude’s eyes, glinting like obsidian, as they performed a quick full-body scan on Kurt. She was really good at reading people with just a glance, which could explain why she welcomed Puck into her shop without question all those years ago. After a second, Jude smiled gently, as if she’d figured something out. “So, you’re a close friend of his, then? Well, I’m Jude. And it’s very nice to meet you mister…”

“Kurt.” Kurt supplied. “Kurt Hummel.” But he sounded weird, pronouncing his name slowly as if he was unsure, when he usually introduced himself with so much confidence that it kicked you in the groin. Puck felt something brush against his side, and he looked down to watch his flipper slide out of Kurt’s hand. When he looked back up to Kurt’s face, his brow was furrowed with puzzlement. No really, it looked like somebody walked up to him and tipped over a box and told him to put the five thousand pieces together in under a minute. Like, super tangled up in the head; Puck imagined that he’d looked the same way just five minutes ago.

“I’m sorry but…” Kurt was looking at Jude uncertainly. “You said…Puck? Puckerman, he’s here? We, we go to school together. But I don’t…” he looked around again just to triple and quadruple check himself. He frowned when he confirmed the negative, and Puck suddenly wanted to giggle like mad. “I don’t see him.”

Now Jude raised both of her eyebrows, eyes wide and moving between Kurt and Puck, who was standing there trying his hardest not to laugh out loud because, _ha_! Just…holy shit, Kurt still didn’t recognize him! He didn’t recognize him with the…with the hat and, and, oh god, with the freaking _glasses_. Kurt still hadn’t realized that “his Littlefoot” was actually him, Noah Puckerman. And it was funny, because Puck knew that Kurt was smarter than smart. He spoke, like, three languages, he was crazy with historical facts from other countries, and he’d taught himself how to masterfully wield Sai swords like a fucking ninja. His quick wit and sharp tongue could cut Puck to the core if he only knew where to strike.

And yet…it seemed like the dude still hadn’t improved in his math. Like, _at all_. Because in Kurt’s mind, boxes had four sides. And in Kurt’s mind, Puck plus penguin Tomtop plus nerdy glasses didn’t equal anything _close_ to the Littlefoot from his childhood.

It was too hilarious, and Puck laughed out fucking loud, hugging himself with one arm and trying to cover his insane laughter with the other hand, leaning over the sugar table. Maybe it wasn’t as funny as he was making it out to be, because everyone in the shop was staring at him like he’d lost his mind – Puck distantly registered Kylie and Jade gaping at him from the counter. The other customers looked genuinely startled, and one lady by the fireplace looked downright scared. Only Jude seemed to catch the joke, and she cracked a wide smirk.

And Puck laughed. He laughed until his side hurt, until his lungs burned, until his head felt like it would spontaneously combust. He laughed so hard that his eyes started to sting and tears of mirth clouded his vision, blurring the colors of the sugar packets into one rainbow glob of sweetness, and the description added to his giddiness. If he’d been in his right mind, he would’ve recognized it as hysteria. Oh well. _“We might be laughing a bit too loud, oh, but that never hurt no one…”_ He remembered the lyric randomly, and it drew out his laughter just a bit further. He couldn’t remember ever laughing this much. At least, not since Cera left, and honestly, he’d never thought he would again. It felt good – better than good, so good it was painful.

 This New Year was just full of surprises.

Puck laughed until he was coughing. He began gasping for air, grin still plastered on his face, gripping the edges of the sugar table to keep from falling over due to lack of oxygen. The dial on his laugh box gradually turned down from “crazy maniac plotting mankind’s destruction” to “sane chuckling”, to giggles that bubbled from his throat, punctuated by half-hiccups. It’s a good thing he’d gotten the epiphany about iced-cocoa when he did, because he was sure that drinking anything hot now would make his throat bleed. He knew he might’ve been exaggerating, but whatever. Puck gulped a few times to sooth the ache, and he reached up to remove his glasses with a heavy but relieving sigh. Whew.

He turned around with the glasses in one hand while he used the other to rub moisture from his eyes. He could’ve cracked up again just from the look of sheer, speechless horror on Kurt’s face. His eyes were wide and he looked as lost as Finn often did – which, if anyone knew Finn (even Finn, himself), was saying something. He’d backed away from Puck sometime during the latter’s fit, but now he seemed ready to flat out run. It took Puck a second to realize that Kurt must’ve been putting the puzzle pieces together, and making good progress at that, judging from the way he stared Puck in the eyes. Kurt’s jaw dropped lower and lower still as he pieced together Puck’s face, and the image became so clear that he couldn’t believe it. Kurt covered his mouth.

“Oh my god…” Kurt breathed. “Oh…oh my god. _Puck?_ ” The doubt was etched deeply into Kurt’s brow.

“Well who’d you think I was, Cera-tops?” Puck asked, grinning brightly as he stuck his hands into the mitten ends of his flippers. (Later, Jude would call it the most genuine smile she’d ever seen him wear.) It had been a long time since he’d felt so relaxed.

“Well I…” Kurt started, and he hadn’t blinked at all. He shook his head as if it was his own thoughts that he couldn’t believe. “I thought that you were…but you’re…and you…” Puck wondered if even Finn had ever looked so thrown off. Kurt blinked and inhaled sharply. “…What?”

Puck glanced at Jude, who stood at the ready next to Kurt in case the boy suddenly went into shock or something. Jude immediately nodded at Puck and gripped Kurt gently by the shoulders. “Why don’t you sit down, dear? I’ll fix you some cocoa.” Kurt allowed her to guide him into Puck’s chair, but didn’t take his eyes off Puck. Puck quickly moved to sit across from him, their eye-contact unwavering. As Puck scooted his chair in and Jude went over to shoo the girls toward the back, Kurt glanced down at the plate of waffles and full mug that weren’t his, but sat in Puck’s previous spot; right in front of him. Puck observed for a few moments, and the longer Kurt contemplated the food, the more desperate his expression grew, until finally he raised his head to see Puck again. He stared, and Puck stared right back. A lot of staring going on too, but Puck couldn’t blame anybody: 2012 was already shaping up to be smoking stuff, making everything look unfamiliar and new in neither a good or bad way. It was great.

But Puck had to speak or something soon, because Kurt looked like he was about to explode. His face shifted from pale to red to pale again at a sickening pace.

“Hey, Kurt.” Puck greeted easily, and it was kind of silly, with everything that had happened already. But Kurt Hummel was speechless, and that was a rare thing, but it meant Puck had to step up. “So um…I didn’t expect to see you here. Today. Or like, ever…But you are, here, so…”

Yeah…okay, so maybe, sitting there with just the two of them at the table and their history sitting on top of it, it wasn’t as easy as he’d thought. Puck swore though that his lack of bravado was blamed on the penguin hat. He fingered his glasses in his lap unconsciously. It was weird, because now that he’d seen Kurt – _this_ Kurt, the Kurt Hummel from school – with his glasses on, he really wanted to put them on and leave them on and stare at Kurt all day. Kurt had grown up from when he’d been little Cera-tops, but he still looked the same for the most part. Same baby skin, same perfect hair, same eyes that hid a universe. Puck wondered how he’d never noticed _Kurt_ before, or put together the fact that he was Cera, and he figured it could’ve been because he’d always worn his glasses around Cera, but never around Kurt. Puck would put them back on, but he didn’t want to yet because…well, just because. Maybe it was easier to speak to Kurt without remembering he was Cera (not like he could forget though – not now, no chance in hell.)

“I know that you’re probably…surprised to see me. Here. Wearing this.” And wow, wasn’t that the understatement of the year? Actually, it very well could have been, since the year just started. Focus, Puck. He leaned forward a little, smiling disarmingly. “But it’s…really good to see you, Kurt. Happy New Year, by the way. I haven’t actually spoken to anyone else so…How’s your vacation been?” That’s it; just keep it easy, Puck told himself. And hopefully Kurt would play along. But beneath that, Puck knew not to get his hopes up because, well, this just wasn’t some sort of gift that could be bagged up and taken back to the store.

Kurt didn’t say anything. Only stared.

…And damn it, Puck was going to have to do this, wasn’t he?

Puck sat back in his seat and sighed heavily, reaching up to run a hand over his Mohawk, only to touch the little beak on his crazy-fluffy-soft baby penguin’s face. It would’ve been just as comforting, if not more-so, if Kurt hadn’t watched the action like hawk and lingered on the hat with such fucking _longing_ that it made Puck’s chest tighten. Because Puck knew what that hat would’ve meant to Kurt. His mom had given it to Puck, back when everything was simple and happy. Before high school and Glee drama. Before Kurt got bullied, and Puck became the bully. Before Puck’s old man left, and Kurt’s mom…

Before Kurt’s mom…

Oh, shit. Kurt’s mom. Elizabeth. _Dodah_ _Beth_.

And suddenly, the world made sense.

With that, Puck unfolded the glasses in his lap and raised them to his face, sliding them into place with his eyes closed. And when he opened them, Kurt looked about ready to cry in high definition. But for some reason, maybe because he’d been given a couple minutes to take in the Puck he knew, Kurt wasn’t fluctuating anymore. He was steady and calm, even as his eyes squinted to see past tears. Then, Kurt spoke as certainly as usual. A smirk even tugged at the corner of his lips, albeit sort of watery. “Puck.”

And Puck smiled again. “Kurt?”

“Well who’d you think I was, Littlefoot?” Kurt responded, and Puck would’ve expected the sudden, full-blown grin to break Kurt’s face in half. Puck himself didn’t think his own face could be repaired; it hurt too much from all the smiley faces.

“Actually, I knew who you were right away.” Puck boasted. And if it wasn’t the exact story, well, who cared? They each knew the other now, and that’s what mattered. Still, Puck tapped the rim of his thick black glasses. “Since I’ve got these on.”

Kurt’s face turned nostalgic, and his eyes glistened like the snow flakes on the shop window. He didn’t even seem to care about Puck’s correction, and maybe it’s because he somehow knew that Puck told a partial lie. Maybe that brief contact with Jude rubbed some of the people-reading ability onto Kurt. Or maybe Kurt could still read Puck like no other, somewhere deep down, where their connection had been buried. “Oh yeah,” he said lowly. “I remember those.”

“And I know you remember this.” Puck offered just as lowly, touching one of his flippers tenderly. Kurt watched the action and the wistful look returned for a moment.

“I can’t believe you still have that.”

“’Course I do, are you insane? I’d never give this up. Ever.” And Puck said it without shock or defensiveness, because he could still read Kurt from deep down, and he knew that Kurt only said it because he was trying to save the bigger conversation for later.

(The “conversation” they’d have in Kurt’s room, where Kurt would tackle him and cradle Puck’s head to his chest, silently mourning for the mother and childhood he’d lost. And Puck would be just as silent with his face in Kurt’s chest, for _dodah_ , and for his daughter – who he’d subconsciously named after one of the most important women in his life…and for everything he regretted since and in-between. And they’d both cling to the other with unspoken apologies for things past that couldn’t be changed, and for what they’d lost, but miraculously found again. And after a while, Puck would promise to bring over the movies Kurt didn’t have so they could just curl up and reminisce and laugh like they used to, only differently because with everything that had happened during those lost years, what they had was impossibly better.)

The fact that he still had that connection gave Puck those butterfly-feels below the base of his throat again. They intensified when Kurt reached across the table without hesitancy to pet his hat too, and more when the bright twinkles in Kurt’s eyes warped into something softer and more complex as he stared past Puck’s glasses, into his eyes. More staring, and eventually, they both forgot where they were. Outside, the snow fell. On the table between them, Puck’s waffles and iced cocoa remained barely touched.

They were snapped out of it by Kurt’s phone ringing rather obtrusively from one of his coat pockets. Kurt excused himself and leaned back in Puck’s former seat to answer it, and from his end, Puck gathered that it was Kurt’s dad. Mr. Hummel. Puck had to think longer to match the current face in his head with the one in his childhood, but when he did, he just felt stupid for not seeing it way earlier. Burt hadn’t changed much at all, and it was kind of weird that they hadn’t crossed paths more since he and Kurt started high school. Or maybe it wasn’t so weird, since he typically avoided dads in general for one reason or another. Puck tried not to eavesdrop but Kurt was sitting right there, so even if Puck’s earmuffs functioned as earplugs, he would’ve been drawn to Kurt’s mouth as his lips moved. In high definition, Kurt’s lips were pretty inviting, and Puck figured it was an ingrained observation from the many times those lips had been on his. Speaking of which, Kurt had kissed him. Which wasn’t a big deal once you knew their story, but as a fact alone, it was something Puck could tease the other boy endlessly about.

This was why, when Kurt hung up and plainly stated, “My family needs coffee. I’m ordering, then you’re coming home with me,” Puck only smirked smarmily and quirked an eyebrow, saying just as plainly, “You kissed me,” without any preamble. Maybe he expected Kurt to start blushing and refute the true statement, or maybe he expected him to roll his eyes and say, “You know what that was so shut up.” He didn’t expect Kurt to lean over the table and kiss him again, just as sweetly as before, which is what he did, nor for him to say “duh,” before strolling over to the counter where Kylie and Jade had been watching in amusement the entire freaking time. But what could he say? 2012 was full of the unexpected, and January 1st wasn’t even over yet.

Unexpected, like how the women seemed to suddenly _want_ Puck to leave already. Jude almost immediately brought out a tray of three coffees and a hot chocolate for Kurt, much to Kurt’s surprise. She also passed him a large bowl of her banana pudding, and when he politely declined saying something about too many “Holiday calories” already, Jude shushed him and said “Just take the pudding, young man. It’s delicious, and on the house,” before shoving the bag at him. The other two girls plus Puck had to insist that first-timers (and Puck, though he always fought back) were treated, so it was okay. And Jude wrapped up some fresh waffles for Puck, plus his untouched iced-cocoa and a hot one. When he protested, she shushed him similarly and, with a wink, said, “Just tell me how the cocoa on the rocks tastes. You can pay me back when it sells with your name on it.” Then, they were kicked out in the most loving way that Puck’s Golden family could: telling them to go out and enjoy the snow since Puck had been pining like a dog at the window.

“See you later, Flipper. I know that you know what I need to know next time. Nice to meet you Kurt!”

“You come back too, Kurt. Your pretty face will be a relief from Sir Leonard Nerds-a-Lot over there. Oh, and Clark? I fully expect you to wear that get-up for my amusement at least one a week. Peace.”

Jude hugged them both, and then literally shoved them out the door.

“How did you even end up over here?” Puck asked as he climbed into the passenger seat of Kurt’s Nav. He’d only ridden in it one other time, when Kurt caught him walking home in the pouring rain. Puck didn’t like to drive anymore, ever since the mess with the ATM. Besides, he lived near enough to the shop and didn’t mind the walk (and when Puck told Kurt this, Kurt just shook his head and stared at him in wonder.)

“Just followed the flow of traffic.” Kurt shrugged.

Checking his mirrors, and checking Puck’s presence, he explained: “I guess I was getting antsy, so my dad sent me out for coffee. Don’t ask me why, since we have _plenty_ of coffee still in the house, but then Rachel showed up and…” Kurt huffed in reminded exasperation. When he did so, his breath appeared as a warm cloud in the cool car. Kurt turned the car on and continued. “Anyway, a lot of other places were closed, whether because of the holiday or because of the weather. The number of plows here is insanely lacking. It was still snowing pretty hard, and I couldn’t see much past the car in front of me, so I guess that, eventually, I was just driving because…” And ah, there it was: Kurt’s first embarrassed blush of the year. “Because I thought the snow was pretty.”

“Yeah, it’s beautiful.” Puck agreed, smirking at him. But it wasn’t even sarcasm. Puck turned his head to observe the untouched snow banks in nearby driveways as Kurt pulled out of the lot. They looked like never ending sacred plains when compared to the dirty slush piled along the curb, and Puck longed to just fall and make an angel while listening to their wise stillness. Mother Nature was an awesome lady, since she’d ultimately pushed his Cera back to him. Puck vaguely wondered if Kurt would mind playing with him in the snow like old times, since he was Puck’s original snow-mate, and the notion hit Puck with an unexpected new wave of giddiness. When he turned to Kurt with his mouth open to speak, he raised an eyebrow when he found Kurt’s attention already on him. They were at a red light.

For a few seconds, Puck could only focus on the way the light bounced off the snow covered street and reflected onto Kurt’s skin. It was fascinating, how the shadows danced there. Puck tried to speak twice before he manned up and challenged Kurt to a snowball fight later, bracing himself for when the Kurt Hummel-from-school laughed at him for being childish. But Puck’s theory about being connected in thought was proven further when Kurt-old-Cera accepted, without any hesitation or teasing whatsoever.

(And the snowball fight in the Hudmel’s backyard would be a truce. Kurt had improved in his dodging skills while Puck improved in his aim, but Puck would have to take off his glasses and Kurt’s fancy boots would trip the boy up more than once. And Puck was fast but Kurt would know how to slip out of his grip, and Puck would escape his just as easily from the years of evasive sports. Their snowballs would actually hold together, hitting each other with tangible impact rather than snow showers. Eventually, Puck would get his wish to make snow angels as Kurt tackled him to the ground – something he’d never figure out – and they’d laugh like the children they used to be together. The sound would trail and leave them in comfortable silence. Kurt would lean over him to play with his penguin flippers, a content smile on his face, and Puck would finger the soft insides of the muffs on Kurt’s trapper-hat, feeling just as satisfied. Both their faces would be frozen by then, and Kurt’s nose would be red while snow continued to soak Puck’s back because he was only wearing a sweater. Their breath would curl and mingle between their faces, until it was Puck’s turn to initiate the simple, familiar kiss that would have both of them sighing – even though their lips were numb to the touch.)

 “God, I missed you.”

~*~

“…And come on, he eats like _all the time_. I mean Finn isn’t that dumb, but you gotta admit he’s not always the brightest.” Puck finished, gesturing with his fork at the screen where Spike was chomping down on yet another pile of star-shaped leaves.

Spike was an orphaned Stegosaurus who’d only ever spoken once in the history of, like, forever. He was big and luggish, ate all the time, and had the face of someone who regularly smoked something sweet. He was pretty much just a friendly dope. He sort of just followed along with the rest of the gang, acting as the muscle and loving companion whenever one of his friends needed it; always there and hard to miss, but camouflaged with the background at the same time. Basically, he was Finn.

Kurt hummed as he ran his hand through Puck’s Mohawk. Puck had settled on the floor in front of Kurt’s bed to eat his waffles while they started their marathon, and Kurt automatically moved with him to get comfortable at the foot of the bed, as if it was natural. They’d both finished their hot chocolate, waffles and pudding by the end of the first movie. Puck drank his iced cocoa (which, possibly the best fucking idea he’d ever had, and he’d _definitely_ be telling the girls as soon as possible) by the end of the second. They were now into the fourth, and Kurt had taken to petting Puck’s head, and Puck leaned into it not so subtly. They were both completely relaxed. So relaxed that to everyone else, it would be considered impossible, how quickly the two fell back into their elaborate dance, never missing a step, as if the music hadn’t been paused for years.

And yeah, maybe for somebody else, it wouldn’t have been so easy to brush aside the first half of high school, where Kurt suffered innumerable costume changes and soreness because of Puck. But the two of them had had their “talk” soon after their snowball fight, while Puck’s clothes dried and Kurt picked through his closet for something that fit Puck’s body-type. (Luckily, Kurt had toned down the wardrobe since his stint in Hogwarts, having come to appreciate more casual gear.) Before they’d broken down in each other’s arms, Kurt had explained what happened back when they were eight:

 _Dodah_ Beth had been visiting her sister in Cincinnati when she passed away, so Kurt and his dad went there for the funeral since most of her other family lived there too. Kurt went back to Lima to spend Thanksgiving with his dad, but he soon returned to Cincinnati to live with his mother’s family for a few of years. With Elizabeth suddenly gone and the tire shop just getting off the ground, it gave Burt some time to stabilize his schedule and source of income before taking on single parenthood. He still visited Kurt whenever he could, and eventually _dodah’s_ family agreed that Kurt could go back to Lima. By then, though, things had changed. Cincinnati taught Kurt that kissing other boys, like he loved to kiss his Littlefoot, wasn’t something he should go around telling people that he did. The kids at his school in Cincinnati teased him mercilessly for it, calling him a girl, and Kurt learned to keep his mouth shut about dusting and tea parties with his Littlefoot. Littlefoot was all he could think and talk about (his aunt already knew from all _dodah’s_ gushing), and he’d longed to return to his best friend since before time. So to say it broke Kurt’s damaged heart further, when he returned to find Littlefoot gone, was an understatement.

And that’s when Puck had offered his side of the story. About how his Cera never showed up to play in the snow or watch movies, even though he’d promised – and how, eventually, Puck figured that it was because Cera thought he was garbage, easy to toss to the side. Just like his dad did. He told Kurt about how he’d waited for his Cera to come back, sitting on his front steps every day with his penguin hat and glasses, and eventually cups of cocoa that Jude sent home with him. And that’s how his dad found him, one day when Puck was ten: sitting on the stoop playing, in the middle of another Jurassic Park wedding with his Power Rangers. Puck had barely jumped up in surprise before his father drunkenly smacked him back down, cursing at him for never growing out of his “fag phase.” The back of Puck’s head cracked on the edge of the step, just as his mother came out the door screaming. He’d had to go to the hospital, and they’d shaved his head in order to stitch him up, leaving a small scar that he’d tell people came from a fight. He never found out why his dad came back that one time, but after that, there were no more Power Rangers in brides’ dresses. His mom moved them across town to Lima Heights Adjacent, and Puck shaved the sides of his head when it grew back, ditching his glasses and Tomtop in exchange for the name “Puck.” He’d given up all hope on Cera by then.

There in Kurt’s bedroom, Kurt hesitated when his hand skimmed over the scar marring Puck’s Mohawk, resting his hand unconsciously atop Puck’s head. “If Finn is Spike, then Rachel is definitely Ducky.”

Ducky was a Saurolophus, a tiny swimmer with a big mouth. Her family had adopted Spike, and the two were rarely seen apart – Ducky was often seen riding on Spike’s back and speaking enough for both of them while Spike just nodded along. She was nice enough, but Puck always found her kind of annoying. Small, loud, obnoxiously enthusiastic, with complete control over someone who could swallow her whole?

Puck laughed. “Holy shit, that’s Rachel to a T.”

They continued to compare characters with people they knew, laughing and correcting each other with little quips and tidbits that came as easily as if they’d been doing so for years. Eventually, Kurt climbed down with a blanket to share with Puck, and Puck leaned his head on his friend’s shoulder. Kurt continued to stroke his hair, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence with the fifth movie illuminating the otherwise dark room. Neither of them knew what time it was, just that an amused Carole, confused Finn, and equally confused Burt had each peeked into the room for the last time just as the fourth movie had begun. The first of January was over.

After a while, Puck pondered with a slight slur, “You know…your hair’s kinda tall. Like Cera’s frill. So, you’re like…a real Cera-tops. ‘S cool.”

Kurt turned his head as much as he could without jostling the other boy, taking in the way Puck battled with fatigue from the day’s excitement. His eyelids would droop dangerously low before flying open too wide, blinking rapidly as he tried to straighten up, but then Kurt would start massaging that special spot at the back of his neck, and Puck just melted against him again. Kurt smiled smugly down at his friend through his eyelashes, saying quietly, “Oh yeah? Well you’d look more like Littlefoot if you shaved your head again.”

“Mmm…maybe.” Puck sighed heavily, sagging against the warm body beside him. Kurt watched as Puck finally closed his eyes, lulled by his soothing ministrations. “But you and Cera, though…you got the same eyes…all blue n’ green ‘n  pretty…”

He mumbled something more under his breath, but it was spaced and unintelligible. Kurt was left grinning to himself as Puck’s breathing quieted and evened out. It was unreal, the way the light from the TV played with shadows on the stronger jock’s face; the light blue and greens and yellows made Puck look younger, like the Noah he used to play dress-up with – they smoothed the frown lines and softened his jaw line, and darkened his eyelashes against his high cheekbones. Kurt half expected to wake up in the morning to find that it had all been a dream: the cocoa, the snowballs, the tears, the kisses. But as Puck cuddled closer to him in his sleep, Kurt had to face the fact that his Littlefoot had grown into a Puckasaurus. (And it was funny, because now the self-given nickname made sense. Just like a lot of other things did.) A few minutes later, after basking in the elation of having his friend back, Kurt fell asleep with his head against Puck’s. On the screen, the parents of Chomper, the baby Tyrannosaurus Rex, promised to never harm Littlefoot or Cera, or any of their other friends again.

-

The rest of their vacation passed by slowly, so slowly that school seemed like a distant dream.

It had taken a couple of days for Burt to get over his suspicion, after he found Kurt and Puck snuggled so intimately in the morning. But he made the full connection from “Puck the Punk” to Kurt’s childhood friend, when Puck showed up on the Hudmels’ doorstep the next day – with his penguin Tomtop and thick glasses on, and a tray of cocoa in his hands. (“Hey Mr. Hummel. Is Kurt home?” Burt was still standing there speechless when Finn passed by behind him, and had to back up for a double-take. “Puck? …Dude.”) Puck’s mom thought he’d been staying out so late with beer or girls again, which kind of hurt, so he could tell that she was relieved when he assured her otherwise. (Well, at first she thought he was lying, but she ended up believing him because she hadn’t seen him smile so brightly in a long time.) After that, Puck hung out with Kurt every day. Seniors didn’t have to go back to school until the 9th, which gave the boys a week to reconnect and be sappy enough to annoy Finn and a prying to no avail Rachel, which was saying something.

On Friday though, reality knocked them both on the head: Shelby emailed Puck with some photos of Beth, which was cool because Kurt was there to coo and rave alongside Puck, which made him feel less of a wuss. But soon after that, Kurt got a call from Blaine, saying he was back from his family reunion in Akron – which wasn’t so cool because Puck had to watch Kurt go all fake smiles and couldn’t figure the hell out why. He waited for the call to end, watching his friend carefully, before asking why he wasn’t fucking ecstatic or something to have his boy-toy back. Kurt turned to him with sad eyes, unblinking, and at first Puck thought he’d said something wrong. But then Kurt sighed and reached for his hand; and, squeezing it with a half-smile, he said, “I just got you back. I hate the thought of letting you go again.”

Puck was honestly confused and replied, “Letting me go? I’m not going anywhere. And frankly I didn’t go anywhere before. Look. I get it; you want some time with your man and that’s important and all so I’ll let you do your thing. But that doesn’t mean we can’t still hang out, right? I mean, last I checked people could have friends outside of their relationship. Why, is Bland like, the controlling jealous type?”

“What?” Kurt blinked in surprise, then frowned, and then finally smiled a little as if he couldn’t believe his own silliness. “No, of course not. I just thought…I don’t know. I mean, isn’t _this_ going to be different once we go back to school?”

Puck smirked confidently, even though he’d secretly been wondering the same thing and answered, “I don’t see why it would be.”

And the next day, Puck showed up on their doorstep with the familiar tray of hot beverages, penguin hat, and glasses. He also carried a little gift bag, whose contents he refused to share with Kurt when he came to the door. “It’s not for you, though.” Puck said quickly, before Kurt could get his hopes up. Kurt rolled his eyes, but Puck knew he was trying not to show disappointment and so went on, “It’s for _dodah_.” And almost instantly, Kurt’s demeanor shifted, staring at Puck with a muddle of emotions darkening his brow. He glanced behind himself into the house before stepping out onto the steps and shutting the door behind him, looking back for Puck to continue. Puck explained, “I was thinking maybe we could go see her. I mean, I didn’t go to the funeral, and I know it’s way past overdue, but…I _really_ want to visit her grave so…Please, Kurt. If it’s alright with you, and your dad I mean.”

Kurt stood there gazing at Puck as if he didn’t know whether to hug him or cry. Puck figured he might’ve crossed some boundary he hadn’t known existed between them anymore, but after about a minute in the cold, Kurt finally nodded and mumbled for Puck to wait there while he told his dad and got his keys. He took the tray inside with him. Puck hadn’t been waiting long before Kurt reappeared, fully bundled up in his coat with the fancy buttons and his trapper-hat. “How have you been getting over here, anyway?” Kurt asked offhandedly as they climbed into the shelter of the Navigator. “Don’t tell me you walk everyday.” And Puck just grinned as he turned on the radio to a station that Kurt liked.

A little over two hours later, they reached the cemetery where _dodah_ Beth had been resting for a decade. Puck paused at the entrance, and Kurt watched as he pulled water bottle out of the gift-bag, twisting off the cap and pouring some water over each of his hands in turn. (“It’s a Jewish thing.” Puck answered Kurt’s unspoken question. “We do this when we visit my _saba_. Couldn’t tell you why, but whatever.”)

Ten whole years. Puck couldn’t help but feel guilty about everything he’d done to Kurt, even though they were past all of it by then; every step he took in the fresh snow felt like he was perverting a piece of heaven, or a pure water cloud, or some other kind of paradise where people like him weren’t allowed. Only Kurt’s hand in his free one reminded him that they hadn’t traveled to Cincinnati just for Puck to beat himself up – he’d save it for later; right then though, he needed to focus on Kurt’s warmth and the light, even breaths puffing from his reddened nose. When they finally came to a stop in front of the clean, chiseled headstone, Kurt let go of Puck’s hand and knelt in the snow, not caring that his knees would get soaked.

“Hey, mom…” he greeted so quietly that it blended into the winter-scape. He touched the surface of the stone with unprotected fingertips. “Happy New Year.”

He said some more, and Puck turned his face away as if to give Kurt some privacy, even though he could hear every word in the silence of the cemetery. The place was like a desolate winter-wonderland, and the morbidity of the many rows of headstones was lessened by the sparkling white snow. Beautifully haunting. “…And you’ll never guess who’s here.” Kurt finally prompted. “You remember Noah, don’t you mom? My Littlefoot? Well he wanted to come see you, too.”

And Puck had a little trouble swallowing past the lump in his throat (but he swore that the stinging in his eyes was just a result of the cold.) He stepped forward and knelt down beside Kurt, eyes trained on the engraved words the entire time. His voice cracked when he tried to speak though, so he ended up whispering, “Hey, _dodah_. It’s me, um, Puck. Noah, I mean. I kind of changed my name but, it’s stupid...you probably think my hair’s stupid too.” He tried to chuckle, and failed miserably. “I’ve done a lot of stupid things, _dodah._ I’m not proud of any of it. Except…except Beth. Did you know I had a daughter?” he swallowed. “She’s…She’ll be two this summer. I wish you could’ve met her. I…I named her after you.” Puck gave a watery smile. “I did that and I didn’t even realize it. Isn’t that funny? I did that and…and I didn’t even know…” Puck exhaled sharply. “I’m sorry. I really do miss you, _dodah_ and I’m…I’m so…” Puck’s bit his trembling lip, viciously fighting the tears steadily building without any clue as to where they came from. “I didn’t know that Kurt was Kurt and that you were his mom, or that you…If I’d known…I mean, I should’ve…” The wave was too strong, and Puck knew why he wanted to cry. His _dodah_ was dead. And he hadn’t even known. “Ah, god _damn_ it.” Puck turned his face to the ground.

“God I’m _so sorry_ …” Drops of warm water fell and melted away tiny points of snow. The expanse of blank white blurred, and Puck didn’t realize that sobs wracked through his body, or that he was fumbling desperately with the snow, until he felt Kurt’s hand rubbing his back. He didn’t have to look to know that Kurt was probably crying too. Puck abruptly sat back in the snow and pulled Kurt into his lap without preamble, hugging the other boy as close as he could. Kurt’s arms circled around his shoulders, fully prepared to wait out Puck’s outburst. But it was too cold to just sit there, and Puck’s tears soon froze onto his face, so he was forced to stuff the overwhelming emotions back into their box in a corner of his chest. It hurt to do so, but he’d have been lying if he’d said he wasn’t used to it. He sighed heavily, feeling the chill seep into his bones, and he tilted his head up slightly to kiss Kurt’s jaw.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. And with that one word, Puck apologized for anything – everything. Kurt just shook his head and dabbed at both of their faces with the ends of his scarf. “It’s fine.” Kurt assured, sniffing a little. “Everything’s fine. _We’re_ fine. Okay?” Puck just nodded, and Kurt kissed his forehead. His lips were, miraculously, still warm. “Okay.”

They got up and brushed themselves off, though it didn’t help anything, and Puck reached for the gift-bag he’d dropped in the snow. Reaching inside, he pulled out two naturally cleaved pieces of obsidian. They were broken unevenly, but smooth to the touch and glassy like black pearls. “This is the second part.” He murmured. Then he passed one to Kurt, admitting that he broke into the school that morning to get them from the science lab. “You broke into the school to steal…rocks?” Kurt mused, almost like he wanted to laugh and smack Puck upside the head at the same time. Puck just shrugged. “I didn’t feel like digging in the snow to find some and besides, they’re pretty.”

He instructed Kurt to place the obsidian on top of his mom’s headstone, explaining how it was something Jewish people did to honor the memory of the deceased. Kurt nodded seriously. “I remember. It’s like _Schindler’s List_. I remember your mom used to make us watch it all the time…Huh…Does she still do that?” Puck grinned a little and boasted how, since he’d been hanging out at the Golden Cup and then with Kurt, he hadn’t had to watch it again since the first night of Hanukkah. (Puck thought it was funny how his mom often compared him to Nazis, but never once Kurt, even though his family was actually German – that just went to prove that even though she didn’t show it, his mom cared about Kurt just as much as Elizabeth cared about Puck. It made Puck smile.)

They talked to _dodah_ for a little while more, without any more tears, until neither of them could feel their toes in their boots and decided it was time to head back. They stopped again at the entrance for Puck to rinse his hands once more, even though he’d lost the feeling in his fingertips by then, and sort of stumbled with the cap. Finally, they climbed into the Nav, and drove around in search of something warm to drink before heading back to Lima. The two obsidian stones remained in the cemetery, glinting on top of Elizabeth’s headstone, stark black against the white snow that crowned the silver rock. They would stay there, side by side, like a promise.

About twenty minutes outside of Lima, caught in the highway traffic as it had started snowing again, Kurt turned to Puck with bright eyes. “Thank you, Puck.”

And Puck didn’t ask what for, just smiled and reached over the console to squeeze Kurt’s hand briefly (they’d finally regained some warmth) before traffic started moving again. Kurt smiled back, and switched the radio to a station that he knew Puck liked before returning his hand to the wheel.

~*~

They didn’t see each other on Sunday. Puck called in the morning to say that he was spending the day with Sarah and their _savta_ , and he told Kurt to go have fun with Blaine since they’d spent all of Saturday together. Puck could tell when Kurt pouted a little into the phone, but conceded. “Fine. I’ll call you tonight, though, so I can tell you what to wear for your first day back to school. A new year means new opportunities to improve your wardrobe, Puck.”

Puck huffed and rolled his eyes, but smiled at the boy who couldn’t see him, but knew he was smiling anyway. “Fine. I’ll talk to you later then, Cera.”

“Goodbye, Littlefoot.” Kurt answered warmly. And then he said, “I love you.”

And it shouldn’t have been so easy to say, or as easy to accept. And yeah, maybe for somebody else, it wouldn’t have been. But for the two of them, it was natural. Like they’d been saying it to each other since forever. The butterflies had permanently nested in the base of Puck’s throat, and he felt them do a little dance in formation as he honestly responded.

“I love you too.”


End file.
